


A Midyear's Night

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: International Day of Slash 2015, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Théoden enjoys a night of revelry in the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Midyear's Night

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [](http://libraryofmoria.livejournal.com/361124.html)  
> [The International Day of Slash 2015](http://libraryofmoria.livejournal.com/361124.html) @ [the Library of Moria](http://www.libraryofmoria.com/).
> 
>  **PWP!** Written for the [The International Day of Slash 2015](http://libraryofmoria.livejournal.com/361124.html) @ [the Library of Moria](http://www.libraryofmoria.com/), with the following prompts: the chariot, the Knight of pentacles, the Eight of pentacles.
> 
> Imrahil is 20, Théoden is 27. Denethor married Finduilas in 2976.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Gondor, 2975 TA, Midyear’s Eve**

“I hear that you have come to Gondor looking for a bride. Don’t they have maidens fair enough in Rohan for your fine tastes?”

Théoden turned on his stool at the voice that lifted from the roar of the tavern. A tall, handsome man looked at him with a grin on his face and a tankard in his hand. Théoden rose to his feet, trying to calculate quickly if he knew the man or not and if he should be offended or not.

“By Ossë’s balls!” the man continued. “Either you are very drunk, or you don’t remember me.”

“I don’t remember you,” Théoden slurred. He should have not come out to drink alone, he thought. He always had one too many when he did not have someone to talk to.

The man laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Never mind, I am very drunk too. Don’t you love Midyear’s Eve? Come!”

Théoden followed the grinning man into the revelry of the streets. The bar had been extremely hot, even with all windows open, but the streets did not offer too much relief in that way. There was some sort of parade with music and dancing but most people were already too far into their ale to keep form. Others watched them dance, cheering and clapping or throwing jibes at the less coordinated. It was difficult navigating through the sea of people, but the man pulled Théoden on, elbowing here, greeting someone there, until they reached a larger street where they could breathe easier.

“Mmm,” Théoden said when they stopped. “And who might you be?”

The man laughed heartily. “Imrahil, you fool! I know I was little when you went away but surely.”

Théoden chortled. Imrahil. He remembered Imrahil from a couple of visits to Dol-Amroth. He had a sister with prominent breasts. Théoden remembered going out to play with the boy just to avoid staring at them.

“Your sister…” Théoden said.

“If you mean Ivriniel, she still probably thinks you are a breast-staring barbarian. The other you can’t marry – she’s promised to Denethor.”

“I know, I know,” Théoden said, waving with his hand. “We are not entirely barbaric, back in Rohan, and we do have couriers.”

Imrahil laughed. “Alright, don’t get peevish. But what are you doing here in the low rungs?”

“It was too stuffy up there.” Théoden tilted his head in the direction of the palace.

“You used to like stuffy, or so they said. I remember my father lamenting you when you went away. He said you would never adapt. Do you speak Rohirric now?”

“I always did,” Théoden said, puffing out his chest. “Well, at least a little,” he admitted, “but now I am as fluent as any.”

Imrahil dropped an arm around Théoden’s shoulder and dragged him on down the street. Théoden saw the bonfire and laughed when a man jumped over it too low and singed his breeches.

Imrahil grinned. “Think you can do better?” He started running toward the fire, dragging Théoden with him. Théoden was drunk enough to let himself be dragged, but not to avoid slipping on the cobblestones when he landed on the other side of the fire.

“Fuck me!” he grumbled, as he tried to get up, rubbing his backside.

“Gladly,” Imrahil said.

Théoden’s whole body jerked to face Imrahil. They stood frozen, looking at each other, until a couple ran to the fire, passing between them. When Théoden saw Imrahil’s face again, he winked at him and walked away. Théoden followed him.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing Imrahil’s arm. “How convenient was it that you found me in the busiest night of the city?”

Imrahil grabbed Théoden’s shirt over the chest. “I followed you.” He raised an eyebrow.

Théoden’s lips formed a ‘why’ that was stifled when they heard a woman screaming. Both turned in the direction of the voice and followed it into an alley but when they tried to part the man who pressed her against the wall, she hit them with her purse and shooed them away.

“Well, tonight is Midyear’s Eve, alright,” said Imrahil chuckling as loud grunts and little screams echoed behind them. “Those two are quite lively, don’t you think?”

Théoden snorted.

“Are you lively?” Imrahil asked.

Théoden stopped and stood in front of Imrahil. “Where?”

Imrahil opened his hands and shook his head. “The inns are full, but if we go back up the hill we won’t be drunk when we get to a bed.”

Théoden lifted an eyebrow. “I need more drink.”

A woman with enormous milky bosoms passed by them carrying a tray of wine tankards.

“How much for those two, my lovely?” Imrahil asked.

She wiggled her breasts. “For you, they are free, handsome,” she cheekily replied, “but the wine is two pence each.”

“Ouch, woman, are you trying to get rich?” Imrahil indignantly said.

Théoden placed the coins on the tray and lifted the tankards. “Thank you, lady.”

The woman snorted. “Lady! Aha!” Théoden still heard her laughing as he drank half the wine in a long draught.

“Careful, there,” Imrahil said, sipping his. “That is not ale.”

“I can hold my wine,” Théoden protested, but the very words made him feel sick. He needed fresh air.

“To the gates?” he asked?

“Crickey! Tonight of all nights? We won’t be able to move a foot. How about…” Imrahil looked around. “How about to the Healing House? It’s the closest space and tonight it will be mostly empty.”

A band passed by them drowning Imrahil’s words with the cheerful music, but Théoden understood enough. Both moved quickly through the streets, rising to the sixth level as they avoided the people who tried to pull them to the fires and to the revel. Théoden walked straight to the front of the first house he saw, once they passed through the gates of the gardens, but Imrahil pulled him by the arm, chuckling.

“Are you insane? They cannot see us, lest you want to be cured from this fine wine,” he whispered into Théoden’s ear.

It was true. The vicinity of the House of Healing was the quietest place in the city that evening, Théoden thought, as Imrahil lead him through a door, into a garden in the back. Imrahil peeked at several windows, thinking he was stealthier that he was indeed, but no one saw them. Placing a finger on his lips, Imrahil bid Théoden to follow him through a door. They went into a corridor, hiding in the shadows when an elderly lady dressed in healer’s gray passed near them.

Something made a sound behind Théoden and the lady stopped, looked around and then continued down the hall. Imrahil giggled into his fist.

“If we get caught, it’s your fault,” he whispered.

The wine and the darkness were starting to make Théoden sleepy. He looked behind him, to see what had made the sound and found that a door had opened. It let into a cool, darkened room, with only a sliver of moonlight coming through the window. The narrow bed looked like the most delicious invitation to rest and he walked toward it.

“You found a bed!” Imrahil exclaimed, passing by him and throwing himself into it. Théoden was so tired that he just dropped himself over Imrahil, hoping that he would move out of the bed.

“You are not going to sleep,” Imrahil said.

“Am too,” Théoden replied.

“Shhh. Are not,” Imrahil replied. Théoden realized that there were some steps in the corridor again. The person stepped closer to the room and firmly closed the door, without looking inside.

Imrahil chuckled. “We are in luck today!”

Théoden closed his eyes and felt a shiver when strong, warm hands ran up his legs, through his sides and down again, to his groin. The wine made the room sway. He decided it was best to keep very still. Imrahil fondled him but there was no need – he was already hard. He peeked once, when Imrahil unlaced his breeches, but he liked it better with his eyes closed. It felt like floating, being this drunk, on a strange bed, with a warm mouth and experienced hands on his cock. It felt like some sort of paradise, but Imrahil stopped. He was undressed, moved about as a doll, thoroughly enjoying being something in someone’s hands. Imrahil moved around the bed and knelt on the mattress by his head. Warm fingers traced his cheek.

“You can pretend to be asleep, if you like,” Imrahil said.

Théoden took the bait. He caught Imrahil’s thumb between his lips and sucked on it, biting the soft pulp before letting it go and moving toward Imrahil’s cock. It had been a long time he had taken a man in his mouth and he relished the taste and the volume, the salient veins, the liquid seeping into his mouth, the silky skin. He was overeager and soon Imrahil made him stop, holding his head back.

Imrahil leaned down and kissed him deeply. Théoden shuddered as they slid down one another’s skin, moving against each other as each lent his foreign touch to the other’s cock. He came hard and so did Imrahil, panting beside him.

 

In the morning, Théoden woke to the sound of his ears whistling. Too much wine always did that to him He tried to sit and winced as his stomach came to his mouth and went back down. Imrahil was dressed and held a glass of water toward him.

“It’s the best remedy for a hangover,” he said.

Théoden took the water, drank it, and tried to get dressed.

“How is the Lady Morwen?” Imrahil asked, nonchalantly. “We’re still cousins, although a few ways removed.”

“My mother is fine,” Théoden grumbled, a little miffed that Imrahil was handling the excesses of the previous night with so much more grace than him.

“Is it true you came to Gondor to find a bride?” Imrahil asked.

His conversational tone plucked at Théoden’s nerves. “Why, do you have one for me?” he asked tartly.

Imrahil laughed. “We’d better hurry up to the halls,” he said. “There will be more ceremonies today. I will enjoy myself watching you dying of boredom… or glazing off to the thought of a handsome man from Dol-Amroth.” Imrahil winked, opening the door of the room.

“Are we leaving that way?” Théoden asked.

Imrahil squinted his eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

Both ran to the window, climbed through it furiously, and ran through the gardens and up to the halls, laughing and egging each other. The unease that had threatened to settle in his stomach after the tryst had vanished by the time they reached the halls, sweaty, disheveled and lighthearted.

“Friends?” Imrahil offered, reaching out his hand.

“Friends,” Théoden replied.

They parted, each to their own rooms to bathe and dress. Théoden was happy. He had not come for a bride, merely to enjoy Gondor, which he had not seen since he was fifteen. Imrahil made him feel confused but happy, as if he had been allowed to breathe a different air, for a few hours. Outside his room, the sun rose to its zenith. He was fresh, dressed, once more a proper son of Rohan with the finest Gondorian education. But if he could chose, he would have another Midyear’s Eve with Imrahil.

He lay on his bed to rest for a moment, before it was time to go down. By the time he woke up, the sun was low and he knew he had missed most of the ceremonies. He hoped that the Lord Ecthelion would not notice him missing among so many guests. A white piece of paper lay in the floor, in front of his door.

The note read:

_Dear many-times-removed cousin,_

_It was a delight renewing our acquaintance. I have made excuses for you with our gracious host. Worry not – on Midyear’s Eve much is forgiven and forgotten._

_Your friend,  
Imrahil of Dol-Amroth_

Théoden smiled and folded the note.

_Finis  
June 2015_


End file.
